


Wait For Me

by celli



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: Tommy surreptitiously leaned against his cube wall to hide the way his head started spinning. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”“I kinda did,” Lovett said. “Unless somebody else knocked you up?”





	Wait For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anatomical_heart, giddygeek, joshlymanwalkandtalk, and cinderlily for some serious heavy lifting as betas. Thanks to out_there and misspamela for audiencing and cheerleading.
> 
> While I was finishing this fic, there was a bad fourth-wall scare in this fandom, so it bears repeating: please don't share this with the people involved. Thank you.
> 
> I compressed some timeframes and fiddled with RPF canon and the laws of reality in multiple ways, but once you get a guy pregnant, sometimes you go mad with power and change how a TV series works to suit your plot needs, what can I say.

“Oh my God,” Tommy panted, hands clawed into the pillow so he wouldn’t grab at Lovett’s hair, “you weren’t kidding. You really will do anything to avoid packing.”

Lovett sat up and grinned at Tommy. His lips were red and swollen, and Tommy couldn’t stop staring at them. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, go ahead, fuck me,” Tommy said, grinning back. “ _I’m_ not the one with movers coming tomorrow, take all the time in the world with me.”

“Challenge accepted,” Lovett said.

*

_one conception later…_

Tommy could admit that he wasn’t in the best shape of his life at the moment. Before Lovett left they had occasionally dragged each other away from their laptops and Blackberries for fresh air, a drink, a solid meal, or, on one memorable occasion, some mindbendingly good sex... But Lovett was in LA now, and Tommy figured the lack of accountability explained his acid stomach, weird sleep schedule, and general feeling of death-warmed-over-ness.

Favs and Dan were clearly not buying it after a couple of months.

“Dude, have you left this office?” Favs demanded one Saturday morning, standing at Tommy’s cube.

“Yeah,” Dan said from behind him. “We’re always pasty around here, but you’re practically transparent.”

Tommy’s head was killing him and he’d had a super nutritious breakfast of the last two slices of bread in the apartment that morning thanks to his stomach. He crunched some more antacids and washed them down with coffee. “Yes, I leave. At ten at night. You know, like everyone else in this job. I’m busy. Aren't you two busy?”

“Uh-huh.” Favs refused to take the hint, just staring at Tommy like he was a particularly complicated position paper.

“Go away. I’m fine.” Tommy threw a pencil at Favs and turned back to his desk - only to grab it and sway to the side as his damn head started spinning.

Favs and Dan both called his name. Tommy looked over at them but that made it worse. He grabbed for his trash can and barely got it in time to throw up.

Despite that, Tommy put up the best fight he could. He still found himself at the closest urgent care, flanked by Favs and Dan like bodyguards. He let them follow him into the enclosed space with the doctor - it was easier, and he was just too tired to argue all of a sudden.

The doctor did a fast but thorough check of all the usual things. Tommy answered the questions as though he were at a press briefing - the most succinct answers possible, with no emotional attachment. 

“Any history of ulcers?”

“No.”

“Anxiety or depression?”

“I have a stressful job,” Tommy said. Dan and Favs both rolled their eyes.

“Are you a male pregnancy gene carrier?”

“No family history,” Tommy repeated by rote, his attention more on his stomach than her.

She paused. “But you don’t know your status for sure?”

“I’ve never been tested,” Tommy said. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant.”

She made a note on her clipboard. “We’ll check just to be sure. Are you on any prescriptions?”

***

The three of them were deep into an argument about election strategy when the doctor finally came back in. “Sorry for the delay, Tommy,” she said. She looked meaningfully at Dan and Favs. “Would you like your friends here for this?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tommy said. “Is it an ulcer?”

“No. Tommy, you are a gene carrier.”

“I’m a.” Tommy started to stand up, staggered, sat down hard. “Wait, what?”

“He’s pregnant?” Dan blurted out. Favs elbowed him.

“I know this wasn’t expected,” the doctor said. “I have some information for you, and a couple of prescrip--”

“Dude, are you texting someone?” Tommy interrupted, glaring at Favs.

“Just Lovett,” Favs said.

Dan lunged for the phone as Tommy yelled “Don’t!” but it was clear from the look on Favs’s face that it was too late.

“You dick,” Dan said, throwing the phone back at Favs.

“What?” Favs asked. “Lovett always--oh.” He looked at Tommy, eyes wide. “ _Oh_.”

Tommy flopped down on the exam table. “Fuck.”

***

Tommy spent a sleepless night and a stomach-churning day waiting for Lovett to call him, text him, something, and ignoring the little voice in his head (sounding suspiciously like Dan) that pointed out phones worked both ways.

Just after three he found out why: he got back to his desk after a briefing and found Lovett sitting in his chair, carefully arranging every one of Tommy’s paper clips into a giant chain. Tommy hated that. Lovett knew Tommy hated that.

“Tommy,” Lovett said evenly, eyes on his work. He was in sweats and a wrinkled T-shirt and pale, like he’d crawled directly off a red-eye and into Tommy’s office.

Tommy surreptitiously leaned against his cube wall to hide the way his head started spinning. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“I kinda did,” Lovett said. “Unless somebody else knocked you up? You said you were going through a dry spell, but maybe--”

Heads started popping up from the cubicles nearby. Tommy groaned. “Can we do this somewhere else, Lovett? Anywhere else?”

“After you,” Lovett said, popping to his feet.

Tommy’s head had switched from spinning to pounding, and he was suddenly pissed off. “Fine,” he said, and led the way to Dan’s office.

Dan was in there with Alyssa. They were laughing, and Tommy’s temper spiked higher. “We need your office,” he said.

“What?” Dan said. Then he saw Lovett. “Oh, yeah, if you need it, just let me--”

“Thank you, you’re the best, bye,” Tommy said in a tone even he knew didn’t match his words.

Dan looked irritated as he grabbed his phones, but Alyssa patted Tommy’s shoulder as she passed him. “Don’t get so deep into your Afterschool Special that you forget you have friends, boys.”

Tommy threw himself in Dan’s chair and let Lovett pick from the two uncomfortable visitor’s chairs Dan had crammed into his office. 

“So,” Tommy said as an awkward silence started to spread, “this is your chance. Do you want to yell at me for fucking up your life? Because I have yelled at myself enough for both of us.”

“I only want to yell at you a little,” Lovett said sullenly. “Why did you say it was okay without a condom?”

“I didn’t know I was a carrier, Lovett.”

“Yeah, but--”

“You said you’d never barebacked, and we’d both been tested, and I--I just wanted to try it, okay? I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Spoiler: it was,” Lovett said, and Tommy laughed because crying was too real an option. Lovett laughed, too, and some of the stiffness went out of Tommy’s limbs.

“Not to be the aforementioned Afterschool Special,” Lovett said finally, “but you know it’s your choice what happens next, right?”

“I do, thanks,” Tommy said. Okay, he said it a little snidely. Lovett put up his hands and sat back in his chair. 

Tommy sighed. Favs and Dan and Alyssa had been talking around it all morning, tripping over themselves to non-judgmentally support him. “I can name five people off the top of my head who are pregnant or just had a kid and are handling White House duties just fine. But I think about _me_ doing it, and I…” He looked Lovett in the eye for the first time. “It’s terrifying. I don’t want to suck at helping the people who govern, and I don’t want to suck at making a person. Can I be competent at both?”

Lovett jumped out of his chair. “Can you be--you, Thomas Competent Vietor the Fourth, from the long line of successful, hard-working, handsome Thomas Competent Vietors.” He paced as he talked, illustrating his point with his hands. “Yes, yes, you can. Of course you can. Plus, you know I’m here for you, right?”

“You’re in LA.”

Lovett leaned against the corner of the desk. “Planes exist. Vacations exist, you remember vacations? Child support checks exist--don’t start with me, buddy.”

Tommy closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say. Yeah, Lovett was a fancy famous writer now, but...but.

“They’re not me, but Favs, Pfeiffer, Alyssa, and everyone here exist too. Look, I only want you to do this if you want to, but if you want to, we can make it work, Tommy. Also,” Lovett said, “I remember all your campaign stories about kids, and your vacation pics with your cousin’s baby, and just, I always thought you’d be a fucking amazing parent, so whatever.”

“I want to do it,” Tommy said. He took a deep breath. “I--oh, God, Lovett, we’re gonna have a _kid_.”

Had Lovett gone even more pale? He didn’t say anything at first, just came around the desk and hugged Tommy hard. “I’m in this with you,” he said. He was warm and more than a little sweaty and he didn’t pull back when Tommy grabbed onto him and held, which at least told Tommy he wasn’t alone in his sheer terror.

There was a knock on the door. “Can I come back in?” Dan called. “I have a staff meeting and I need my stuff.”

***

Tommy’s OB-GYN was a tall African-American man with the exact same haircut as Favs. He was also visibly pregnant, and Tommy kept staring him in the stomach instead of the eyes.

“Six months along,” he said cheerfully, offering a hand to Tommy. “My third. Dr. Newman.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tommy managed instead of the fifty questions that sprang to his mind. “Tommy Vietor. This is my friend Dan. My, ah, co-parent couldn’t make it. He lives in LA.”

“Hi Tommy, hi Dan,” Dr. Newman said. “Is this your first pregnancy?”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy said with feeling, and Dr. Newman laughed. 

“All right, lie back here and we’ll check you out. Do you have a ballpark of how far along you might--”

“Nine weeks and a day,” Tommy said, “and if you even think about laughing, Dan…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dan said. Tommy peered at him upside down, but Dan had a good poker face going. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?” Tommy asked, most of his attention on the stranger’s hands touching his stomach. 

“Can I text Lovett about this?”

“Why, thanks for asking, yes you can.”

***

Another two months in, things were starting to fall into a routine. On Fridays Tommy would finish up as close to six as possible and meet Dan in his office. Dan always had oranges - Tommy was taking hardcore folic acid supplements, but he wasn’t going to argue. Favs, Alyssa, Cody, and the rest would drop in as their schedules allowed. Every other week, Lovett would fly in, and on _those_ Fridays, there was a strict No Pregnancy Discussion rule until Lovett was escorted in some time after nine depending on “fucking DC traffic.” Then Tommy, with lots of unasked-for assistance from assorted staff, would update Lovett on exactly all the same pregnancy news he’d been texting Lovett all week.

It was--nice. Tommy didn’t want to think too hard about it (he was trying not to think too hard about lots of non-work things). But folded into Dan’s suddenly more comfortable guest chair with Lovett sitting cross-legged in the other, animatedly discussing calcium intake for male pregnancies and Tommy’s sleep schedule, was, yeah, nice. Tommy tossed his last orange for the night to Lovett and watched him peel it with a sense of satisfaction he wasn’t looking at too closely.

“So how big is the peanut?” Dan asked, and three separate people dove for their phones. 

“Pear,” Lovett said without even looking. “This week Peanut is pear-sized.”

“That sounds like a terrible appetizer,” Favs said from where he was propped against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Lovett threw an orange peel at him.

“Or a mutant legume.” Alyssa nudged Dan out of his chair and took it over, stretching and yawning. “How was the appointment yesterday?”

Lovett made an irritated face and curled up further in his chair.

Tommy looked down at his untucked shirt. “Good, he’s glad I’m eating better.”

“And he hasn’t passed out at all this week,” Dan said.

“One time!” Tommy protested. “One damn time!”

“In front of the press corps, though,” Favs said, earning himself another orange peel to the head. “Hey!”

“You’re a dick,” Lovett said. “Come on, Tommy, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Spaghetti,” Tommy said firmly.

Dan, Alyssa, and Favs all took on the determinedly blank looks of people who had in no way seen Tommy eat spaghetti for every meal, including breakfast, all week. Lovett eyed them and then looked suspiciously at Tommy.

“Lovett. Take me home and buy me carbs.”

“Yes, dear,” Lovett said.

***

They ordered in spaghetti, and Tommy’s new roommate Casey was kind enough not to mention the all-spaghetti diet either. Casey worked in communications at HHS and had already let Tommy know he was fine with staying or going after the baby was born-- “I’m the oldest of five kids, babies crying are old hat.” He was out at a comedy club, so Tommy and Lovett talked Hollywood and DC and paternity pants until Tommy started to fall asleep, just about faceplanting into his plate.

“Hey, don’t go bashing your nose, you snore enough already,” Lovett said, rescuing the plate and taking it into the kitchen.

“That’s a lie,” Tommy said through a yawn. He leaned his head back for a second, and when he opened his eyes, Lovett was leaning against the wall, smiling down at him.

“How are you really?” Lovett asked.

“Hmm.” Tommy thought about it. “I’m doing okay. Really. All this,” he gestured at the air in front of his stomach, “is weird and sometimes creepy, but work keeps me steady.”

“Work, where you work a million hours a day and know all the worst things happening in the world.”

“Work--” Tommy wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t stop yawning-- “where I’m good at what I do and appreciated for being good and have a purpose.”

Lovett was staring at him like he was looking inside Tommy’s head, but finally he nodded. “I will stipulate that you’re a badass at your job, fine. Will you stipulate that you’re asleep with your eyes open and go to bed?”

This was a routine, too--Lovett followed Tommy into his room, stuffed his clothes into the somehow already-overflowing backpack on the floor, and climbed into the far side of the bed. They lay there for a bit facing each other, and Tommy was just about to fall asleep when he felt Lovett’s hand on his stomach. Without even thinking about it, he tugged up his shirt so Lovett could reach bare skin.

“Go to sleep,” Lovett said in hushed tones. “I’m just saying hi to Peanut.”

“Dr. Newman says it’ll probably be at least eighteen weeks along, maybe more, before we can feel movement,” Tommy said, just as quietly.

“Yeah, but I can still say hi.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Tommy dozed a little while Lovett explored his stomach, only coming to the surface when Lovett’s touch got so light it started to tickle. He giggled and trapped Lovett’s hand against his stomach. When he looked up, Lovett was looking at him as though Tommy were some stranger who had wandered into the bedroom, and Tommy looked back, confused - but then Lovett blinked and everything was back to normal.

“Night, Peanut,” Lovett said. “Night, Tommy.”

Tommy yawned. “Ni-” He fell asleep mid-word and woke up the next morning with Lovett’s hands still tangled in his.

***

Four Fridays later, Tommy was in Dan’s office arguing about social media use with Dan and Favs and letting Alyssa peel his orange when Lovett burst in. “Welcome to hiatus, my friends!” he crowed, sitting on the arm of Tommy’s chair. Tommy shifted to compensate. “Four beautiful weeks of sleeping in while you losers run the country!”

Tommy looked sharply at him--he checked the _1600 Penn_ ratings faithfully every week--but Lovett didn’t seem to be hiding any kind of concern.

“You’re staying here this whole time?” Alyssa asked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t get bored,” Lovett said and ignored the chorus of people saying “I wasn’t worrying.” “I still have my scripts for the back half to work on, plus a couple other ideas, and I have so much sleep to catch up on, you have--er, you have some idea.”

“Maybe,” Tommy said dryly.

“He fell asleep at his desk again,” Dan said. Tommy, who had also fallen asleep on the couch every night for two weeks, glared at him.

“Be nice,” Lovett told Dan. “He’s growing a person! It’s like a second job. I take naps and I just type all day.”

“Thank you, Lovett,” Tommy said. 

“I don’t know, man, from what I can tell of this baby, he’s a harder boss than the President,” Favs said. “You might--”

“He?” Lovett asked.

Favs winced.

“He?” Lovett stood up and looked down at Tommy. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Tommy said, handing Lovett the sonogram picture he’d been holding in what remained of his lap. “You asshole,” he said over his shoulder to Favs.

Lovett didn’t respond, just stared at the sonogram for a long time while everyone else in the room looked at each other and shuffled around. Finally, he looked at Tommy. “You should have waited for me.”

“I don’t have another appointment for a month, they needed to--”

“Or told me, or something. I should have been there, not this fucking--”

“Hey now,” Favs said, “I’m sorry but--”

Lovett, I had this--oh!” Tommy jumped. “Oh, fuck.” The whole room froze, staring at him. “Don’t look at me,” he snapped.

Everyone looked away except Lovett. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I told you when the baby started moving but--” It happened again. Tommy put a hand on his stomach. “It’s really strong now. I think you could feel it, maybe?”

Lovett reached out a hand but left it hovering above Tommy’s. “Can I--”

Tommy grabbed his hand and pressed it to the top of the bump. “It might feel kind of faint to you but--there it was again.”

“Okay, I’m still fully pissed at you, and this in no way gets you off the hook, but I think that was it. Maybe I’m making it up.” Lovett sucked in another breath just as Tommy felt another flutter.

“You’re not,” he said, and beamed up at Lovett.

“Um, can I look at you again?” Favs asked. 

“No,” snapped Lovett.

Tommy had honestly forgotten other people were in the room. “Yeah guys, sorry.” He blinked hard. Lovett hadn’t lost the tightness around his mouth, but his eyes were suspiciously bright too.

***

Tommy plowed through the next four weeks with Lovett physically as well as metaphorically in his corner, and it was fucking amazing how much better he felt. Lovett made sure he ate breakfast and dinner (and texted him at lunchtime). He rubbed Tommy’s feet after dinner and got him off the couch and into bed at a decent hour. He was there at night when Tommy woke up shaking from nightmares where the baby was mixed up with national security matters Tommy couldn’t even talk about when he lay there crying in Lovett’s arms. 

He charmed the shit out of Dr. Newman in one of the doctor’s last appointments before paternity leave. “So this is the co-parent I’ve heard so much about,” Dr. Newman said. Lovett preened while Tommy tried to remember if he really did talk about Lovett that much, or if that was just a doctory thing to say. They met their replacement OB/GYN, Dr. Chase, though Dr. Newman promised he’d be back in time for delivery. He was also only too happy to order another ultrasound.

Lovett spent a lot of time just staring at the screen. Tommy had half his attention on the on-screen heartbeat and half on Lovett. “Are you crying?” he asked.

“How are you not?” Lovett asked, choked out. “Holy shit, Tommy.”

Tommy reached out and put a hand on Lovett’s; Lovett turned his hand over and held on hard. “We get pictures to take home, right?” he asked the ultrasound tech.

“Absolutely, as many as you want,” she said.

“Good. I have a fridge that needs decorating. And a work desk. And a car.”

Tommy had no idea what any of those looked like; he fought off a familiar twinge and focused back on the screen.

*

“Should we make lists for names, or what?” Tommy asked. Lovett was driving him back to work, hands a little tight on the wheel of Tommy’s car as he navigated D.C. traffic.

“I don’t--I thought it was obvious,” Lovett said. “Thomas the fifth, right?”

“Of course not,” Tommy said, shocked. “We need your name in there.”

“Okay, not that I don’t,” Lovett said, “but come on. Family comes first.”

“You _are_ family, what the fuck,” Tommy said. “Just because I’m the one pregnant doesn’t mean you matter less.”

“Doesn’t it?” Lovett asked, his mouth in a tight line. “You can’t uproot your life, and I can’t uproot mine. I’m always going to be a continent away from you guys, except, except weekends and what, every other Thanksgiving or whatever.”

“You’re here now,” Tommy protested.

“We both know I’m basically unemployed,” Lovett said, “they’re going to cancel my show, Tommy,” and he was choking up again. “I need to find new work, and TV writers’ rooms are in LA, pitch meetings are in LA, I have to be based in LA, I don’t know what--”

“Pull over,” Tommy said. Lovett kept going, knuckles white on the wheel. “Pull the goddamn car over, Lovett, I’m not having this conversation with you ten seconds from an accident.”

Lovett took two sharp turns, parked in the driveway of an elementary school, and turned the engine off.

There was silence in the car except for Lovett’s harsh breathing and the sound of Tommy’s heartbeat in his ears. Lost, Tommy reached for Lovett’s hand and brought it to his stomach. “It’s not important what the baby’s called,” he said. “I mean, it’s--the important thing is that he’ll call you his father. No matter what. Tell me how I can make this better for you.”

“Move the White House across the country,” Lovett said, with a shadow of a smirk. “Listen, I just--I take a red-eye home every time, and my life has nothing to do with--I bought a two-bedroom house, and the second room has like a pull-out and some crappy art, yours will have a crib and probably Winnie the Pooh characters or some shit. I’ll have a picture. You have the reality.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, this has just been so...being here has spoiled me and I don’t want to go back. You can’t fix it, Tommy, except by being a different person with a different job and a different life. I know I’m just being an asshole.”

“You’re not.” Tommy said. “I wish you were here all the time too. Or that I could magically be there. It’s like we’re divorced and we didn’t even get the wedding.”

“Just the wedding night,” Lovett said, and Tommy managed a shaky smile.

He put a hand over Lovett’s on his stomach. “I can’t fix anything else, but I officially place you in charge of names.”

“Isn’t that where we started this whole conversation? Damn,” Lovett said. “I still vote for Thomas F. Vietor the Fifth. I looked up nicknames, and we could call him Quinn.”

Tommy imagined a tiny fat baby named Quinn, and sucked in a breath. “That’s fucking adorable,” he said, blinking hard.

“Good, I win,” Lovett said with enormous satisfaction.

*

 _1600 Penn_ did indeed get canceled, but Lovett was in full steam ahead mode and seemed barely to notice it, making call after call to LA while continuing to shower foot rubs and spaghetti on Tommy. He burst into the usual Friday meeting, while they were loudly discussing whether at 29 weeks Quinn was the size of a squash or a cabbage, in full voice. “You guys. Tommy. You guys.” He slid to a halt just in front of Tommy’s chair. He reached down and patted Tommy’s stomach. “Quinn.”

“Yes, Lovett?” Alyssa asked.

“I have two words for you all: AARON. FUCKING. SORKIN.”

“That’s three words,” Tommy, Favs, and Dan all said in unison.

“Shut up. I have a meeting Monday morning with Aaron fucking Sorkin.”

“Wait, for _The Newsroom_?” Tommy asked. “Holy shit, Lovett.”

“I fucking know, right?” Lovett said. 

“I would hug you but standing up requires too much effort,” Tommy said. “Congratulations, you rock star.”

“Just a rock star in waiting at the moment,” Lovett said modestly.

Tommy laughed. Then it hit him. “When will you have to leave?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Lovett looked down to Tommy’s stomach. “I should really go as soon as possible. I can get in touch with some guys who’ve worked with him, get them to vet my pitches.”

“Absolutely,” Tommy said.

Favs, who was in Lovett’s visitor chair, leaned forward. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for the weekend, Tommy?”

“What?” Tommy asked.

“Or mine,” Alyssa said. “The cats miss you, Tom.”

“I am fine,” Tommy said. “I’m an adult, you guys, not a thirteen-year-old.”

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Lovett said.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Tommy said. “They have pull-out beds, Lovett. _Pull-out beds_. My back can’t take it.”

“I can come crash at your place,” Favs said.

Exasperated, Tommy said, “I. Will. Be. Fine. I have a roommate, and I’m almost two months from delivery. Everybody calm the fuck down.” He got up and stalked out, with Lovett trailing uncertainly behind him.

*

It seemed like a bad dream at first. Tommy surfaced, clawing through the covers for Lovett, and it took forever for his brain to process that Lovett wasn’t in the bed with him, was in LA prepping for his big meeting.

“Fuck,” he said to the empty room. “What the - _fuck_!”

Something twisted in his stomach, and every nerve in his brain lit up with DANGER DANGER GET HELP NOW.

“Casey!” he yelled. No response. “Casey!” he yelled again. He fumbled for his phone. 

“Tommy?” Lovett asked after only about half a ring. “What are you doing up, it’s the middle of the night there.”

“I think I’m having contractions,” Tommy said.

“No you’re not,” Lovett said.

“Lovett--”

“Tommy, you’re having false labor.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

Lovett’s voice slipped. “Because it’s too goddamn early, Vietor. Where the fuck is Casey? Hang on, stay with me. Josh, give me your phone,” he yelled to someone else in the room. Tommy felt the twisting again and was too busy freaking the fuck out to hear anything besides faint yelling.

Casey fell into the room. “Okay, okay, I’m here,” he said into his phone.

Lovett was back in his ear. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “Casey’s going to get you dressed and in a cab to GW. Favs and Dan are going to meet you there. Dr. Chase or whoever’s on call for him is going to check you out and tell you it’s false labor, and everything will be fucking fine. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He waited for the cab with Lovett repeating it over and over, and he went to GW with Lovett repeating it over and over, and that was exactly what happened. Everything was fine.

*

With the time change, Lovett’s flight back on Monday didn’t get in until almost midnight, so Tommy was asleep again when he got there. He woke up to Lovett climbing onto the bed, shoes still on, and wrapping himself around Tommy’s stomach.

“You were great,” Tommy said groggily. “You fixed it all.”

“Wait for me, Quinn,” Lovett said, his voice a little ragged. He put his forehead on Tommy’s stomach. “Stick around for me, please, kid.”

*

Alyssa went with Lovett and Tommy to the airport so she could drive Tommy home afterwards. Lovett had argued he could head over on transit by himself, but he’d done it with one hand on Tommy’s stomach, so Tommy had ignored him.

That was Lovett’s preferred position these days, one hand curved around the side of Tommy’s stomach where the ultrasound showed Quinn’s head to be, the other gesturing even more wildly to make up for it. Once he and Tommy were in the back seat of Alyssa’s car, though, he snuck both hands under Tommy’s shirt to rub circles on his stomach. Tommy put a hand on Lovett’s shoulder. He caught Alyssa looking at them in the rearview mirror every once in a while, but she had most of her attention on the road.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time for the C-section,” Lovett said as if this was the first time they’d had this conversation, not the dozenth. “Four or five days, easy, I already talked to the executive producers about it.”

“I’m not worried,” Tommy said.

“And you’re okay with me Skyping every night?”

“Of course! I’ll even stand in front of a wall and mark off how much bigger I am if you want.”

“Maybe,” Lovett said with a sideways look. Tommy laughed.

“We’re here, guys,” Alyssa said, pulling into a spot in Departures.

Lovett gave Tommy’s stomach a smacking kiss. “Wait for me, kiddo,” he told Quinn, then looked up at Tommy with a nerve-wracking intensity. “Take care of yourself,” he said. 

Tommy nodded--and then Lovett was out of the car and headed into the airport without looking back.

“Do you want to hop up here?” Alyssa asked.

“Ugh, so much work,” Tommy said, and Alyssa laughed and let him be. Tommy spent the ride back to his place with his hands holding his stomach where Lovett’s had been, silently counting down the days. Four weeks now. Lovett would be back in three, then Quinn in four. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it.

*

The month crawled by. Tommy trained his backup, a cheerful twenty-something named Cyndi who couldn’t possibly be old enough to look at some of the shit this job produced - had Tommy been that bright-eyed, that optimistic, once? Casey moved out and Tommy took the rent hit (“Child support, dumbass,” Lovett reminded him) and the second bedroom turned into an actual nursery--crib, changing table, a Winnie the Pooh mural after he remembered Lovett’s comment weeks ago about it. He FaceTimed Lovett one night and showed him the Red Sox mobile from Favs, and Lovett laughed for five minutes straight.

“Tell me the truth--if this was a girl, she’d be Caroline, wouldn’t she?”

“It’s a perfectly good name,” Tommy said, “and how did you even know that song anyway?”

“I worked for Jon Favreau,” Lovett said.

“Good point.” Tommy lay on the couch--Lovett rolled his eyes--and propped his feet up on the opposite arm. “You know, I always thought that stuff about losing your ankles was just a joke, but it really happens and it really freaking hurts.”

“I’ll give you a foot rub first thing when I’m back next week.”

“In Dan’s office?”

“In the Oval if necessary.” Lovett grinned. “I could probably get away with it too.”

“He’s not _that_ excited about Quinn,” Tommy said. “Lots of people in the White House have kids.”

“And he loves every single one of them. I follow all the Twitter accounts. Pete Souza must feel like he works at one of those J.C. Penney photo centers.”

Tommy laughed. “Okay, okay. Mrs. Obama is being pretty great too--she got Quinn a little suit, it’s ridiculous but--”

“Don’t say the A word,” Lovett warned.

“It is _completely_ adorable,” Tommy said over Lovett’s groan. “And I had to fend off a reporter the other day. She tried to touch my stomach!”

“ _Who the fuck_ ,” Lovett demanded.

“Dude, I can take care of myself with a reporter. She apologized. Twice.”

“I know that terrifying look,” Lovett said. “Practice it often for use in the terrible threes.”

“We’re going to have a three-year-old someday,” Tommy said. “We’re going to have a zero year old in two weeks.”

“I know,” Lovett said. “I was literally there.”

“Can you really, honestly believe it, though?” Tommy asked.

Lovett thought about it. “No.”

They both looked down at Tommy’s stomach.

“Okay, this has been terrifying, but I have to go,” Lovett said finally. “I have a dinner meeting and I need to drink heavily at the thought of impending fatherhood.”

“I hate you, have fun,” Tommy said.

Lovett waggled his fingers. “Wait for me, Quinn,” he said, and disconnected.

*

One minute, Tommy was at the podium, and the next he was lying flat and there were worried reporters peering down at him.

“What--” he asked muzzily. “Oh, no, did I get dizzy again?”

“You’ve been out cold for two minutes,” someone from Reuters said. There were loud sounds behind them, and the reporters all stepped back to let one of the White House EMTs through.

“Mr. Vietor, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“Still dizzy,” Tommy said. Quinn kicked hard and he put a hand on his stomach. “Is everything--”

“Let’s have someone take a look at you just to be sure,” the EMT said smoothly.

“Tommy!” Dan leaned over him, and Tommy closed his eyes as the room started to spin.

“Call Lovett,” he said. “And Dr. Newman?”

“On it,” Dan said.

They put him on a stretcher and paraded him out past the reporters--Tommy fought off the crazy urge to princess wave as he went by. Favs showed up at the last second and talked his way into the ambulance.

“This is so embarrassing,” Tommy told Favs as they pulled away from the White House. “It’s gonna be in Politico tomorrow.”

“That would sound more convincing if you weren’t the color of chalk.” Favs said, squeezing Tommy’s free hand. The other had a pulse ox monitor on it and the ambulance EMT was shaking her head over the blood pressure reading she’d just taken.

“Did you eat today, Mr. Vietor?” she asked.

“I did, ever since I fainted way in the beginning of my pregnancy I always eat right before press events.”

“Hm,” she said.

“Hm what?” Favs asked.

“Let’s see what they have to say at the hospital.”

Tommy was pretty sure his blood pressure had ratcheted up. He wrapped both hands, one with an IV in it, around his stomach.

Favs settled a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Tommy.”

“I want Lovett,” Tommy said under his breath.

*

Dan snuck into the exam room while Tommy was arguing with Dr. Newman.

“We should really be prepping you now, Tommy.”

“You said it wasn’t serious. _You said_ Quinn is okay right now.”

“The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be for you. Your body is trying to produce prolactin and oxytocin to trigger labor, and we’re counteracting that. It affects the father more than the fetus, much more.”

“Oh, forget me. Dan! Dan, did you find him?”

“Sort of.” Dan looked sheepish. “His phone was off and the production people wouldn’t listen to me, so...did you know the President has Aaron Sorkin’s personal cell number?”

Tommy half-laughed, rubbing his stomach. “And?”

“He went straight to the airport, he’s on a plane here.”

“See?” Tommy said to Dr. Newman. “Get me through til Lovett gets here. We _promised_ him.”

It was a nightmarish few hours--objectively about five, but subjectively several days. Tommy couldn’t sit up, couldn’t keep anything down, couldn’t do anything but hold on to Quinn and stare at the clock. Dan, Alyssa, and Favs took turns with him, trying to distract him, but his entire world had narrowed down to Quinn and the wait. He imagined Lovett on the plane, worried out of his mind, and thought, _we’re waiting for you, we’re waiting_ over and over.

When he heard running in the hall, he tried to sit up but the dizziness knocked him flat, so he just turned his head. “There he is,” he said, smiling for the first time in hours.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Lovett said, bursting into the exam room. Dan had been sitting with Tommy; he got up and left, patting Lovett’s arm on his way out.

“We waited,” Tommy told Lovett. “I made them.”

Lovett looked down at him. “You look like shit, Vietor.”

“Careful, I might throw up on you if I get too agitated.”

“We can’t have that.” Lovett had one hand on Tommy’s stomach and the other touching his face. Wiping tears away, Tommy realized dimly. “Should we get this show on the road?”

*

Tommy would forever be grateful for the spinal block. He remembered being wheeled into the OR; he remembered, vaguely, the needle going in; and he remembered the odd sensation of the first incision. He did clearly remember Lovett, all but buried in the scrubs they’d given him, and the tight grip on his hand.

Then they set a naked, crying baby on his chest, and the rest of the world just vanished.  
Thomas Frederick Vietor V was eighteen inches long, one ounce shy of seven pounds, and objectively the most beautiful baby ever born. Everyone said so--Favs, Dan, Alyssa--usually in exchange for three or four seconds of holding Quinn before a hovering Lovett snatched him back. At least Tommy could fight him off when he got his hands on the baby.

Finally, though, the painkillers cut through the excitement, and Tommy started to doze off a few seconds at a time. He opened his eyes to see Lovett watching him. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lovett said. “All right, everybody out. Baby’s tired, dad’s tired, other dad’s been cruelly denied time with baby--don’t argue with me about my own progeny, Favreau. Don’t you all have important governmental jobs to get back to, anyway?”

Tommy did sleep after that, fitfully, and woke up to Lovett’s voice, soft and tender, next to him. He’d never heard Lovett sound like that.

“You’re going to love D.C. Aunt Alyssa and Uncle Favs and Uncle Danno and everyone are going to spoil you endlessly. Wait ‘til you meet Uncle Barack and Aunt Michelle. They’re going to love the stuffing out of you. They'll probably put you on the White House Christmas card--which is kind of funny, but I’ll explain when you’re older. Your daddy can take you to all the Smithsonians. I claim the Air & Space Museum, though. If you become an astronaut, I want to take all the credit.”

Tommy let Lovett’s patter flow over him, smiling.

“But don’t forget you’ll be a bicoastal kid,” Lovett said, and Tommy came to full alert. Lovett started talking about LA and roller coasters, Ferris Wheels, movie stars, bad traffic, smog, sunsets on the ocean. “You have Winnie the Pooh on your wall here, and you should have something special but--but different in LA,” Lovett said, his voice cracking mid-sentence. Tommy looked over and Lovett was looking down at Quinn with such an expression of agony that Tommy immediately closed his eyes so Lovett wouldn’t know he’d seen it.

“Think of your frequent flier miles, Quinn,” Lovett said, and Tommy blamed the hormones for his impulse to cry.

*

Life with a newborn was a goddamn clusterfuck. Tommy’s life narrowed down to Quinn’s need to eat, poop, and sleep, and he’d known it would be bad, the books all said it would be bad, but Jesus Christ, it was bad. And that was with Lovett there, trading off for all the late night bottle feedings--he didn’t qualify for any kind of paternal leave because Hollywood was a bunch of dicks, but _Newsroom_ had given him an unpaid month out of the kindness of their own black hearts. Four weeks to learn how to single parent and get every possible second of sleep in before it was all up to him.

Lovett, meanwhile, was doing Honorary Aunt and Uncle Boot Camp for everyone who walked in the door. (Tommy managed to get pictures when Quinn projectile pooped on Favs during diaper changing lessons, and he gave the man credit for coming back and trying it again the next time.) He had harangued the landlord into fixing leaky sinks and sticky doors, bought out the local bookstore’s selection of Classical Music for Babies, and every time Tommy looked there was a new board book on the little bookshelf in the corner.

Sleep and friend training aside, Tommy and Lovett found themselves both drifting towards each other in that magic spot every day right at the end of Quinn’s regular afternoon nap. Tommy would sneak Quinn out of his crib and settle on the couch with him and Lovett would curl up next to them. It was a no-TV, no-phone, no-friends allowed time, and sometimes they would talk quietly about which Ivy Quinn should apply to his junior year or which of their friends would run for Senate so they could offer Quinn an internship, but mostly they just sat there and stared at Quinn’s tiny gorgeous face and leaned on each other.

Then Quinn would yawn adorably, blink adorably, and scream adorably, and the circus would start again.

*

The less said of The Invasion of the Moms, the better.

*

Dan drove to the airport this time. Tommy sat in the passenger seat, and Lovett sat in the back, next to Quinn’s car seat. Dan kept his eyes on the road and Tommy tried to, too, but he couldn’t help glance back at Lovett, who had his forehead pressed to Quinn’s and was whispering something to him that Tommy couldn’t catch.

“Go ahead,” Dan said when they pulled up to the curb. “I’ll drive the car around a couple of times.”

“You’re a good man, Uncle Danno,” Lovett said. Dan huffed out a breath but didn’t say anything.

Tommy hung back while Lovett went to the ticket line, dropped his bags, and approached security, all while juggling Quinn with a month’s worth of confidence. At the start of the security line, though, he turned to Tommy.

“Hey, take care of yourself,” he said, giving Tommy a hard hug. “No passing out.”

“That was a pregnancy thing,” Tommy said.

“Still.” Lovett kissed the tip of Quinn’s nose. “I’ll see you on Skype tonight, buddy,” he said.

“Are you in line or not?” someone asked from behind them.

“I’m saying goodbye to my kid, do you mind?” Lovett snapped. Quinn was looking up at him, starting to fuss a little. “Sorry, Quinn, sorry,” he said. He kissed him again. One more squeeze of Tommy’s arm and he was off.

“Thanks, asshole,” Tommy said to the guy trying to push past and went off to find Dan. 

*

Pregnant Tommy had arranged for Quinn to spend a couple of half-days in daycare before he went back to work full time as a bit of a trial run. 

Father of a six-week-old Tommy thought pregnant Tommy was a giant fucking asshole. He dropped Quinn off - Quinn, of course, turned bright eyes on the daycare attendant and didn't even look back at his father - and went back to his apartment, where he sat on a pile of to-be-folded cloth diapers and stared into space. 

A buzzing startled him - his phone! He drove for it, but the caller ID was an 818 area code, not the daycare. “Tommy Vietor," he said, trying to sound adult and not drop-dead tired. 

“Hi, Mr. Vietor, this is Susanna Carlin with Blue California.” He vaguely recalled it as a GOTV organization that had helped the Obama campaign in 2008. “Do you have a moment?”

He shifted until he was sitting on the couch proper. “Sure, but I should tell you, I’m on parental leave from work so I can’t talk about anything official.”

“Actually, I’m calling to talk to you about an opportunity here in Los Angeles.”

Tommy’s heart did something complicated. “I’m sorry, what?”

She started talking about Blue California, its goals, what it was trying to do for the 2012 election, including breaking further into Orange County, and Tommy finally broke in, “Susanna, can I ask where you got my name?”

“A connection of mine from the Clinton campaign, Jon Lovett, mentioned you.” Tommy sucked in a breath. “But we’ve also talked to some of your current colleagues as well.”

“Have you,” Tommy said through gritted teeth. “You know, I’m incredibly flattered, but my plan has always been to return to the White House and serve out the rest of this term.”

“I understand.” She sounded genuinely regretful. “Keep us in mind if things change for you, won’t you?”

He said something meaningless and polite and hung up the phone. Then he grabbed his keys and went straight the fuck back to daycare.

By the time the FaceTime ring sounded that night, Tommy’s throat was a little sore from his conversations with his “current colleagues.” Lovett’s face had barely appeared on the screen before he said, in as level a tone as he could manage, “How fucking dare you.” Quinn fussed anyway; Tommy bounced him a little.

“What?” Lovett asked.

“Blue California.”

Lovett’s jaw set. “Listen. I was going to talk to you about it--”

“Too late.”

“--because I know how much you love campaigning,” Lovett kept going, “and it’s a great opportunity--”

“I work in the _White House_ , there are no greater opportunities.”

The view of Lovett’s face wavered slightly. “I was going to say,” he said, voice raising, “that it was a great opportunity to do something you love _and_ share the parenting load, but I forgot, you’d rather martyr yourself to a job and kill yourself as a single parent than listen to a goddamn thing I suggest.”

“Like this isn’t all about you,” Tommy snapped. “ _You_ quit your dream career and move for your family, why don’t you.”

“I fucking--”

Quinn started wailing; Tommy rocked him, a ball of guilt in his chest, and over the connection Lovett made shushing noises.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he was saying, “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay, Quinny.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Tommy said quietly over Quinn’s head.

“I don’t see the point,” Lovett said, but he sounded exhausted, not angry. “I’ll call you tomorrow, I want to hear about daycare.” And for the first time since he went back to LA, Lovett hung up first.

Tommy stared at the iPad, feeling like shit. “It’s okay, Quinn,” he said, bouncing the baby. “It’ll be okay.”

*

Tommy and Lovett managed to be super polite to each other for a few days, talking about nothing but Quinn. Tommy learned to roll his shoulders before call time so he wouldn’t communicate his stress as much and Quinn would fuss less. He wasn’t sure if it helped or not that Lovett couldn’t fly out that weekend.

Monday was a whole other thing, though. Tommy picked Quinn up on time from daycare but had to work once he got home, and Quinn had fallen asleep by the time they called Lovett.

Lovett made a show of checking his watch. “Good first day back?” he asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tommy said.

“No, this is clearly fine,” Lovett said. “You’re shaking you’re so tired, Quinn is already zonked out, and I’ve been waiting for two fucking hours just to see my kid. Clearly we’re beginning as we mean to go on.”

Tommy was too tired for a comeback. He swiped at his cheek with a hand that was shaking, fuck Jon Lovett anyway. “Fine. Fine. I’m bad at my job and bad at being a father. Now will you shut up?” He felt another tear on his cheek; Lovett was looking at him with concern instead of temper now. “I’m just tired,” Tommy said.

“Hey, okay,” Lovett said. “We’ll, uh, what did the daycare note say today?”

Tommy blinked at his iPad. “What? Oh.” He wrenched his brain back online. “Four feedings, five diaper changes. He hasn’t pooped for a couple of days, but I think he will tomorrow because--”

“--he smells so bad,” Lovett said in unison with him, and they both smiled.

“He smells awful, really,” Tommy said, leaning down to kiss the top of Quinn’s head. “A bath didn’t even help. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Everything will be better tomorrow,” Lovett said. “Go get some sleep, you guys.”

*

Things fell into a bit of a pattern again after that. Tommy burned through all the caffeine in the White House, it felt like, trying to be as productive as possible so he could leave on time and take - well, take not as much work home with him. Quinn continued to thrive in daycare and with his various honorary aunts and uncles, who were only too willing to hold and coo at him while Tommy worked. And his nightly calls with Lovett got less stressful. Tommy didn’t mention work issues and Lovett didn’t mention Blue California. Quinn liked to babble at the screen, and Lovett would make silly noises back.

Finally, after the three longest weeks of Tommy’s life, Lovett was able to do a weekend in DC again. Tommy brought Quinn (and a little work, maybe, probably) back to his apartment to find it full of the usual crowd--Lovett and Favs were arguing about something that looked like a script spread between them, and Alyssa was pouring wine for herself and Dan.

Lovett looked up when the door opened and dumped the script into Favs’s lap. “Come here, Quinny,” he said, and Tommy hurried to relinquish him. “You’re huge, how did you get huge, I see you every day!” He bounced Quinn, who said “Beh” and hit him in the face with a fist. Lovett straight up giggled.

Tommy accepted a glass of wine from Alyssa and settled down to enjoy his people. Mostly to enjoy Lovett enjoying Quinn. They’d never looked more alike in their delight with each other; Tommy smiled into his glass and fully relaxed for the first time in days.

By the time their guests had all left, Tommy was gently sloshed on only his second glass of wine, and Quinn was fighting sleep, letting his head drift to Lovett’s shoulder and then jerking it up again with a sleepy babble.

“It’s okay,” Lovett said, kissing the top of Quinn’s head. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Beh, dah,” Quinn said and closed his eyes. 

*

The next morning, Tommy’s “gently sloshed” had morphed into a gentle throb behind the eyes, and he rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand while he fumbled with the coffeemaker. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Lovett, still in boxers and a T-shirt, walk out of the nursery.

“Still ‘sleep,” Lovett said, clearly only halfway awake himself. Tommy smiled. Lovett came over and leaned against Tommy’s arm. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, looking down at Lovett’s face, half lit by the sunrise through the kitchen window. Something about it froze him in place, and it must have communicated to Lovett too, because he looked back up at him.

“Tommy?”

Tommy made himself lean back. “I--” But Lovett leaned with him, and Tommy instinctively swayed back into him. Lovett met him halfway into a kiss.

Tommy steadied himself with his hands on Lovett’s shoulders and slid them carefully up to Lovett’s face. Lovett shivered and groped for Tommy’s hips. He pushed his hands under Tommy’s shirt and up his back. 

They stumbled together to the couch. Tommy maneuvered to lie down on it and Lovett crawled on top of him, leaning up to mouth at Tommy’s collarbone and throat.

Tommy was still groggy and sleep-deprived. This was a dream, right, Lovett draped over him warm and soft, fingers tracing Tommy’s sides and the scar along his abdomen. But dreams didn’t have morning breath and pointy knees bumping into you, and--Tommy reached down and pinched hard.

“Ow!” Lovett said, jerking his head up. “What was that for?”

“Making sure you’re not a dream,” Tommy said, doped up on sunshine and skin-to-skin contact.

“Dumbass, you pinch _yourself_.” Lovett shook his head, grinning down at Tommy. “But thank you for thinking a little handsiness with me is dream material.”

Tommy just moved his hands up to cup Lovett’s face and smiled at him.

“Yeah,” Lovett said, barely audible. “No, yeah,” and bent to kiss Tommy again.

They kissed each other for what felt like forever--until Quinn started crying and then it felt like a few seconds. 

“No, why, no,” Tommy said, trying not to cling to Lovett and failing. His headache reminded him it was back as soon as Lovett stood up, just to add insult to injury.

“Because tiny human,” Lovett said, “although you are _adorable_ when you whine, Vietor. I’ll be right back.”

“Fine. Ugh. Coffee,” Tommy said, hauling himself off the couch--and into an armful of Lovett, who kissed him hard even though Quinn’s crying was about to upgrade from “morning worriedness” to “nuclear fury,” and then ran to the nursery.

“What the fuck?” Tommy asked the coffeemaker, which had no insights to impart on the topic.

*

Quinn thoroughly enjoyed the new--the new whatever-it-was between his dads. He burbled happily through tummy time as Tommy and Lovett tangled their hands together on his back. He played without pause with his floor mobile while Tommy stole kisses and Lovett laughed at him. 

And finally, finally, after a solid feeding and what Lovett referred to as “a medium-epic poop, there," Quinn fell asleep like. A. Dream. Tommy set Quinn in his crib in the nursery, grabbed Lovett by the collar, and half-dragged, half-raced him to the bedroom.

“What’s the longest Quinn has ever napped?” Lovett asked, his voice already a little high-pitched and breathy.

“Hour and a half, shut up and take your fucking clothes off,” Tommy said, reaching for the hem of Lovett’s shirt.

They pulled each other’s clothes off, laughing when their hands tangled on collars and waistbands. Tommy was slightly more awake now, and could appreciate the sight laid out in front of him more. Lovett flushed, but grinned back when Tommy beamed down at him.

“You look stupid happy,” he said.

“I missed out on _so much_ last time,” Tommy said. “Don’t make that face, it was great, but I didn’t--we hadn’t--I didn’t--”

“B. Q. Before Quinn,” Lovett said. “It was a whole universe ago.”

“Yes, that,” Tommy said, even though that wasn’t half of what he’d meant, and pushed Lovett down on the bed so he could bend over him and kiss him.

Lovett was oddly pliant in Tommy’s arms, but then he tugged Tommy down next to him and began a determined march, hands and mouth, down Tommy’s chest.

Tommy groaned when Lovett got one hand on his cock and bit down just a little too hard on one nipple. “ _Fuck_ , Lovett.”

“Is that a ‘Fuck, stop,’ or a ‘Fuck, keep going’?” Lovett asked, taking a detour to mouth at Tommy’s collarbone.

“If you stop right now, I’ll have you killed. I know people, don’t think I don’t.”

Lovett laughed and moved on to Tommy’s other nipple. His hand on Tommy’s cock was firm and fast, and in an embarrassingly short amount of time Tommy’s thighs started shaking.

Tommy wrapped one hand around the back of Lovett’s neck. With the other he groped for Lovett’s ass - as fantastic as he remembered, maybe more so - and hauled him closer. Lovett stopped biting at Tommy long enough to lean up and kiss him. He rolled his hips against Tommy, and he was just about as hard as Tommy. 

Tommy rolled them over and ground down against Lovett. “You feel amazing,” he said against Lovett’s mouth. “You make me feel like I’ve never done any of this before. I want to lock us in here so we don’t do anything else for a week. Do you want to fuck me again? Please tell me you do. Please, Lovett.”

Lovett let out a strangled cry and came all over Tommy’s hip. Tommy lasted another few seconds but had pretty much talked himself into an orgasm, too.

They laid there, wrapped around each other, catching their breath. Tommy ran his fingers through Lovett’s hair and, honestly to his surprise, Lovett let him.

Finally, of course, Quinn started to fuss, and Lovett moved to get up. “Nah, I’ve got it,” Tommy said. He wiped himself down with Lovett’s T-shirt, to Lovett’s laughing protest, then threw his own sweats on and hurried out of the room.

He stopped at the door and turned around. “I--it was great before, but I wasn’t in love with you,” he told Lovett, who looked completely shocked. “That’s what I was going to say. I love you. Um. I’ll. Quinn.” And he exited, pursued by his own fear.

*

There was definitely time to have a conversation after that. Tommy was vividly aware of it, and he was sure Lovett was too. But they both managed to fill the space with talk about Quinn, about the weekend, about their friends. Nobody mentioned their job or their place of residence or the bedroom or what Tommy had. Yeah.

The whole gang came over for dinner again, and Tommy concentrated so hard on seeming normal that he probably seemed a little wild-eyed. Everyone was talking to Lovett and cooing at Quinn in Lovett’s arms anyway, so he just tried to stay chill and only talk about Greek food. He made it through, too, until Dan, being a good friend, asked Lovett one too many questions about his series.

“Can you not?” Tommy snapped. He could feel the entire room (excluding hopefully Quinn, working steadily on his bottle) turning to stare at him, but he’d apparently lost control of his vocal cords. “Can we just be in the present while he’s here and not beat the dead horse that is him living a million miles from his kid?”

A roomful of communication professionals all started making soothing noises together on cue, but Lovett just rolled his eyes. “What? It does suck, are you kidding me?”

Dan eyed him, his chin propped on his hand. “And yet you’re not cursing us out or yelling at Tommy to change his mind about moving,” he noted.

“Have you--have you tried to _get_ Tommy to change his mind recently?”

Everyone cautiously laughed. Tommy gritted his teeth and reached over to mop up some formula at the corner of Quinn’s mouth.

“Also, I tried it myself,” Lovett admitted, and the laugh was louder this time. “Got nowhere.”

“Great, what’s next?” Tommy asked _Seduce me into it?_ he almost blurted. “Kill me with kindness until I agree?”

“Admit that I was wrong?” Lovett directed it down at Quinn, but then he looked up at Tommy. “That I promised you we could make long-distance work and then decided I didn’t like the promise? That the White House is the fucking White House and that airplanes and FaceTime still exist in this reality? That I’m hurting two people I--I love by being an asshole?”

“Wow, look at the time,” Alyssa said, and in a flurry of movement and banged doors the three of them were alone in the apartment.

“I didn’t think you did. Love me, I mean,” Tommy said.

“That’s okay,” Lovett said condescendingly. “You haven’t been sleeping much, after all.”

Tommy laughed. Lovett’s face lit up.

“Listen,” he said, and leaned in over the squirming baby in his arms to kiss Tommy. “I’m not, like, a Victorian heroine or anything. I’m not going to sit around and work on my hope chest and pine for you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re giving Victorian women very short shrift,” Tommy said, but Lovett barrelled on.

“But I can do long-distance, and I can make my life as kid-friendly as possible, and I can wait for--I mean, if you want--”

“Yes, I want,” Tommy said. “Are you kidding, I want. I want _us_ and I want _you_ , what do you want, a press release?”

“Dateline: the White House,” Lovett said, and was laughing himself when Tommy kissed him, Quinn between them clutching at them both.

*

_many, many frequent flier miles later..._

There was a knock on Tommy’s door. “Come in!” he called.

“Come in!” Quinn echoed from behind Tommy.

Susanna was laughing as she leaned in. “The two of you have a visitor,” she said.

“What do you think, Q?” Tommy asked. “Should we let Dad in?”

Quinn gave a big exaggerated sigh. “I _geth_ ,” he said.

Tommy was still laughing when Lovett let himself into the room. “What’s so funny?” he asked, coming around the corner of Tommy’s desk for a kiss.

Tommy smiled up at him. “Quinn’s incredible enthusiasm at hearing you were here.”

“I will try not to be offended that helping me work from home is less fascinating than helping you work from the office.” Lovett bent in half to kiss Quinn on the head, and left one hand on his forehead. “What’s his temp now?”

“99.5, down with the Tylenol. And he seems fine. Hopefully he’ll be able to go back to the JCC Monday. If not, I know you have meetings, I can work from home then. I just have this candidate forum to prep--”

“I know, I know, Favs won’t shut up about it. What genius gave Blue California _his_ number, I ask you.”

“Will Unca Favs be home?” Quinn asked.

“Contrary to popular belief, Uncle Favs actually has his own house. You know, where Aunt Emily lives?” Lovett made a suggestive face in Tommy’s direction. “Maybe when you’re feeling better you can go visit them, Q-bear?”

“I wanna go _now_ ,” Quinn said with an edge in his voice, and Tommy stopped planning a mental sleepover to do damage control.

“Yeah, but if you go home now it’s just you and Dad the whole rest of the day,” Tommy said. “You can play games and bang your hands on the computer like he does,” Lovett was glaring at him, “and maybe if you’re really good when I get home I’ll make special mac ‘n’ cheese and we’ll have Family Movie Night, okay?”

“Frosty the ‘Nowman!”

“Buddy, it’s July and some of us are Jewish,” Lovett said under his breath.

“What about Mary Poppins?” Tommy suggested when Quinn’s chin started to set into a very familiarly intractable pose.

“Mary Poppin and lellow drink ’stead of milk?” Quinn bargained.

“Fine, yes,” Lovett said. “Everybody wins. Put your shoes on, you little hard hitter. Here, can I--” 

“I can do it!” Quinn plopped down on his butt hard. “ _Owie_.”

Lovett raised both eyebrows at Tommy. “Give me strength,” he stage-whispered.

“He takes after someone, can’t think who,” Tommy said agreeably and reached over to take Lovett’s hand while Quinn struggled into his Spiderman velcroed sneakers, first on the wrong feet, then after staring at them a moment undoing the whole process and fixing it.

Lovett tugged Tommy over so he could kiss him again. “i know someday you'll believe this, but seriously, it’s okay to leave work on time,” he said. “Besides, Family Movie Night.”

“Can’t miss Steppin’ Time,” Tommy said. He picked Quinn up. “Bye, Quinnie, love you.” Quinn snuggled in for a moment, proof that he must be sick.

“Bye Daddy, love you,” he said.

“Bye, Tommy, love you,” Lovett said, sing-song, taking Quinn from Tommy’s arms.

“You too,” Tommy said. “I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

“You do that,” Lovett said, backing out the door. “You just do that, Tommy Vietor.” 

The door closed behind them and Tommy spent a smug moment contemplating just how great his life was with that as an incentive these days; then he moved aside a White House paperweight to get a stack of files and turned back to his work with determination. Time to knock this shit out and get home. His family was waiting.


End file.
